The Hours Before
by Toothless' Human Hatchling
Summary: The hours leading up to Mary shooting Sherlock. Hints of Sherolly. Spoilers for His Last Vow. Reviews are loved
1. Hour One

Sherlock stood across the dirt road from his parents house. Oh how he hated having to ask them for help, but he didn't want to waste any of his money on something so expensive and would probably end up in a pawn shop.

He sighed as he began walking towards the gate. All of a sudden he stopped just outside the gate. Something didn't feel right. The air surrounding him felt dense. His ribs and stomach started to hurt, as if someone had hit him with a bat. Something bad was going to happen, he could feel it. It was like his mind was telling him that if he went forward with this plan, then something painful was going to happen. Since he didn't know what was going to happen, he shrugged it off, and walked forward.

When Sherlock reached the door, he knocked four times and rang the doorbell once.

When the door swung open he was greeted by slightly over-weight woman. "Sherly!"

"Hello Mother," Sherlock greeted as he stepped past her.

"We haven't seen you in months," Mrs. Holmes stated.

"I've been working," Sherlock dismissed.

"What brings you here today?" Mr. Holmes asked as he walked into the room.

"I need Grandma's engagement ring," Sherlock said.

"Oh," Mrs. Holmes blushed. "You've found a girl and you want to marry her."

Sherlock groaned, "No, Mother. I need it for the case I'm working on. I promise that you'll get it back."

"Why do you need an engagement ring then?" Mr. Holmes asked.

"I need it so I can get into a criminal's office. I've been 'dating' his secretary for awhile in order to gain her trust. If I have the ring, I can get into the office to get what I need," Sherlock explained.

Mr. Holmes sighed. He hated it when Sherlock took advantage of people's feelings. "I'll go look for the ring. Just remember-"

Sherlock cut him off. "You don't like when I take advantage of someone and meddle with their feelings. You tell me every time."

Mr. Holmes walked out of the room and went to look for the ring.

"Why don't you sit down and make yourself comfortable, sweetie," Mrs. Holmes offered. "It's going to take a while for your father to find that ring. I'll get you some tea."

Sherlock walked into the sitting room and sat down on the couch. He looked over at the TV. Both his parents had been watching the original Doctor Who series. It was an episode with the fourth Doctor.

There it was again that feeling in the air and pain from the invisible baseball bat. Before Sherlock had a chance to think about, his mother came in holding two cups of tea.

"Just how you like it," Mrs. Holmes said as she handed Sherlock his tea.

He took a sip, and cringed at the taste. Even his favorite kind of tea tasted horrible.

"Something wrong, Sherly?" Mrs. Holmes asked as she watched Sherlock.

Sherlock set his cup of tea down. "No."

"I know when something's bothering you, so spill," Mrs. Holmes pushed.

"I just have a lot on my mind," Sherlock stated.

"You always have a lot on your mind," Mrs. Holmes pointed out.

Sherlock tilted his head back and groaned. She was going to make him talk and open up about himself.

"It doesn't concern you or Dad. I'm just trying to figure out a plan to get some important files back for a client," Sherlock said. "That's all you need to know and that's all I can tell you."

"Why must you always do dangerous things?" Mrs. Holmes.

"If I didn't do what I do, I'd either be living on the streets, in prison, or dead," Sherlock replied. He didn't want to tell his mother that he enjoyed seeing dead bodies and facing criminals. That would make her more upset and more worried. Plus if he told her, then she would insist that he stay.

"Don't get hurt," Mrs. Holmes warned.

Sherlock grinned. "I won't."

Mr. Holmes walked into the sitting room and handed Sherlock the ring. "I don't approve of this."

Sherlock took the ring and stood up. "Don't worry you'll get the ring back."

With that said he left his parents house and walked down the dirt road, back toward the city.

* * *

><p>Author's Note: I hope you enjoyed reading the first chapter. More chapters to come<p> 


	2. Hour Two

Sherlock stood outside the drug den waiting for Wiggins to walk out. He had an offer to share with him on one condition.

He looked up at the second floor and saw Wiggins grabbing something. He didn't know what it was. He really didn't care.

There it was again, the denseness in the air, and the pain in his stomach. The pain was somewhat worse. His mind was now paying attention to the signs. His mind was telling him to stop his plan.

Sherlock pushed the thought aside. He could worry about it later. He wasn't interested in what his mind had to say.

The pain become less subtle, but the air remained dense.

Just then, Wiggins came out the front door and walked over to Sherlock.

"What can I do for you?" Wiggins asked.

"I couldn't help but notice your powers of deduction this morning. I would like to offer you a chance to get away from here and do something a bit more interesting with your life," Sherlock said.

"What would that be?" Wiggins asked.

"Walk with me," Sherlock stated as he turned and walked down steps, away from the drug den.

Wiggins eagerly followed. "How are you going to help me?"

"I want you to be my protegé. I will help you harness your gift. In return you will help me. This is a limited time offer, and that offer ends when I hail a cab," Sherlock explained.

"How will I help you?" Wiggins asked.

"You'll become a part of my homeless network. When I need you, I will find, tell you what I need and you'll get it for me," Sherlock answered. "During your time as a part of the homeless network, you will not do drugs of any kind. You must stay clean."

"I'm in," Wiggins decided with a smile. "But what happens when my time is up?"

"We'll cross that bridge when we get there," Sherlock stated, as he hailed a cab.

"Where am I to stay, if I can't stay at the den?" Wiggins wondered.

"Anywhere but there," Sherlock said as he got into the cab.

* * *

><p>Sherlock sat in front of Mycroft, glaring at him.<p>

"Mother called me while I was at lunch and asked if you were okay," Mycroft stated.

"I'm fine. The woman should keep her nose out of my business," Sherlock replied.

"She that you seemed a little off since you didn't even finish a cup of your favorite tea," Mycroft added.

"Too much sugar," Sherlock said.

"Sherlock, if something is going on, you tell me right now," Mycroft suggested.

Sherlock sighed. It was no use in trying to lie to Mycroft. "I've been getting this feeling. It seems to get stronger as the day goes on."

"Well I know it's not love," Mycroft pointed out.

Sherlock made a face at his brother. "Oh please. No it's more like a warning. Almost as if something bad is going to happen."

"Maybe you got Janine pregnant," Mycroft taunted.

Sherlock's eyes widen in fear. "Take that back."

"Are you afraid that I might be right?" Mycroft asked, clearly enjoying the look on his brother's face.

"You know damn well that your wrong, so take it back," Sherlock threatened.

"Or what?" Mycroft wondered.

"Or I'll tell Mother that it was you who killed the cat when we were teenagers," Sherlock warned.

"You wouldn't," Mycroft gasped.

"I would. You paid me for my silence. Red Beard wasn't even with us when it happened," Sherlock added. "She'll love hearing my side of the story when I bring it all up again, when I go back over there in a few days to return Grandma's engagement ring."

Mycroft put his hands up in surrender. "Fine I take back what I said about Janine. What do you think this warning is telling you?"

Sherlock leaned back in the chair he was sitting in. "I don't think I'm supposed to go through with my plan, but I have to in order to get those files back."

"What could wrong? You've planned this thing down to this last detail," Mycroft pointed out.

"My thoughts exactly, but you have to account for human error. Janine might not let me up. John could screw it up. Magnussen might have his guards do something to me. All of those seem like minor things that I shouldn't be worried about," Sherlock explained

"Think about the impossible," Mycroft suggested.

"I have and there's no chance of it happening," Sherlock said.

Mycroft looked at his watch. "Well I have a meeting in twenty minutes. Let me know what happens."

Sherlock stood up and left the room.

As he stepped into the elevator, the pain returned.


	3. Hour Three

Sherlock walked into St. Bart's morgue and found Molly finishing up the autopsy of an elderly man.

"Lung cancer," Sherlock guessed, making his presence known.

Molly looked over at him, but said nothing.

"You had every right to slap me in the face," Sherlock stated.

"I should slap you again," Molly said as she walked past him and into the hall.

Sherlock quickly followed.

"In my defence, it was for a case. I needed to get on the person I'm after's radar," Sherlock pointed out.

Molly continued to walk down the hall, not saying anything.

"Would it help if I said I was immensely sorry?" Sherlock asked.

Molly stopped in her tracks, turned to face Sherlock and slapped him again. "You broke your promise. You promised me that you would never do drugs again."

"I really am sorry," Sherlock stated.

"I spent several years helping you get better. I got you into rehab," Molly pointed out. "When you got out of rehab, you looked me in the eyes and promised that you would never do drugs again. I know you can be heartless and cruel, but you've never been a liar."

Sherlock placed his hands on her shoulders and looked her in the eyes. "I am deeply sorry for hurting you the way I did. I will do whatever it takes to make it up to you."

Molly pulled away from Sherlock. "I don't want you hurting yourself."

"I won't," Sherlock promised.

Molly looked into Sherlock's eyes, to see if he was lying. He wasn't. He was telling the truth. She always knew.

"I believe you," Molly smiled.

"Good," Sherlock said. "Since this is your lunch break, how about you and I get some fish and chips."

* * *

><p>Sherlock and Molly sat at a small table outside a cafe sharing some fish and chips.<p>

"Why are you doing this, Sherlock?" Molly asked.

"Doing what?" Sherlock asked in return.

"Being nice to me?" Molly clarified.

"I'm not being nice. I apologising," Sherlock stated as he bit into a chip.

"Is this how you apologise to John, when you piss him off?" Molly asked.

"No, I just let him stay pissed," Sherlock explained. "He'll get over whatever I said or did eventually."

"That sounds like him," Molly agreed. "But he is your best friend."

Sherlock shrugged. "What's that got to do with anything? I made him believe I was dead for two years, and within a week everything was fine and somewhat back to normal."

Before either one could say anything else, the air became more dense and the invisible perp with the invisible bat hit Sherlock in the stomach, only harder this time.

Sherlock grimaced ever so slightly, hoping Molly didn't notice.

Unfortunately she did. "You okay, Sherlock?"

"Yeah I'm fine," Sherlock lied.

"Don't lie to me," Molly warned.

"Stomach-ache," Sherlock said. "I don't think the fish and chips are agreeing with me."

"What did I just say?" Molly asked.

Sherlock sighed, "I've been getting this feeling that something is going to happen. Only problem is that I don't know what it is."

"You're not going to have to fake your death again are you?" Molly asked, concern masking her face.

"No, I don't think it's going to have to come to that," Sherlock reassured, "but someone might end up hurt."

"What makes you think that?" Molly questioned.

"As the day goes on, the feeling gets worse and worse," Sherlock explained.

"Maybe you should go back to your flat and take the rest of the day off," Molly suggested.

"I have too much to do," Sherlock pointed out.

"Can't it bloody wait?" Molly asked.

"No it can't" Sherlock answered. "Now as much as I would love to stay and chat. I need to go see a madman about whatever the hell he wants to talk to me about."

"Anderson?" Molly guessed.

"Yes," Sherlock said as he got up from his chair.


	4. Hour Four

Sherlock knocked on Anderson's door and waited impatiently. He hated having to come see Anderson. Every week for the past two months, Anderson would call him and invite him over. The man had gone insane because John had blamed him.

The only time the man was the somewhat sane was when Sherlock came over and discussed the power of deduction, cases, advice, you name it, Anderson wanted to talk about it, but only with Sherlock.

The door opened. "Hey Sherlock. Come in."

Anderson stepped out of the doorway and let Sherlock in.

"Hello Anderson," Sherlock said as he walked past the man. "What do you wish to discuss this time?"

"What were you doing in a drug den?" Anderson asked as he closed the door.

"As I have been saying all day, it was for a case," Sherlock stated. "If you don't have any further questions, there's work to be done."

"Who's the guy your brother has forbidden me to speak of?" Anderson asked.

"He is none of your business. You are to as Mycroft instructed and forget the name. You are to forget everything that went on inside my flat," Sherlock ordered. "Do you understand me?"

Anderson gulped. "I understand, but why?"

"He is just a very dangerous man, who knows everything about everybody. If you cross his path in a bad way, you will be at his mercy until the day you die. So heed my warning, Anderson. Do. Not. Piss. Off. Mycroft," Sherlock warned.

"I won't" Anderson promised.

"Good. Now if that is all, I must be one my way," Sherlock said.

"I have a theory I want to run by you," Anderson stated.

Sherlock sighed. He hated hearing about Anderson's theories. They got more and more insane with each visit, and were about things that were completely impossible or didn't exist..

"What's you latest theory?" Sherlock asked.

"What if Moriarty was still alive?" Anderson questioned.

Sherlock stared at Anderson for a long moment and wonder if the madman had lost any or all traces of the sanity he had left.

"Have you go completely mad?" Sherlock asked. "Moriarty put a gun in his mouth and pulled the trigger. He's dead. There's no possible way he could have survived."

"Ever heard of a blank and carefully concealed blood packet?" Anderson asked.

"Even a blank can be deadly if the gun is touching any part of the victim's body, or in close proximity" Sherlock explained. "If he had manged to survive that kind of injury, he would have an extensive brain injury. He wouldn't be able to function without someone caring to his ever single need."

"But he has people," Anderson pointed out.

"Not anymore. I destroyed his entire network," Sherlock said.

"He could have rebuilt it," Anderson suggested.

"I don't have time to hear this ridiculous theory of yours. Moriarty is as good as dead. End of story," Sherlock stated. "I suggest that you get some help and make a life for yourself. Good day, Anderson."

Sherlock left Anderson's flat and walked out into the quiet street. He looked up at the sky. The sun was beginning to set. He only had a few more hours left until he to go through with his plan.


	5. Hour Five

Sherlock caught up with Lestrade just as he was about to get in his car.

"What do you need, Sherlock?" Lestrade asked, when he saw the consulting detective.

"Your contact in Interpol, would be nice," Sherlock replied.

"Can I ask why?" Lestrade wondered.

"Mycroft refuses to give me his files on career blackmailer. I know that Interpol has copies of the files," Sherlock explained.

"I thought you had contacts in every government building here and in the USA," Lestrade pointed out.

"I don't have one in Interpol. I never could get in and they've never required my services," Sherlock stated. "So if you could just give me your ex-wife's work number, I would be greatly appreciative."

"I just can't give you her number," Lestrade said.

"Why not?" Sherlock asked.

"Because I don't have it anymore," Lestrade pointed out.

"Surely you remember it," Sherlock stated.

"She had it changed. I no longer have a contact in Interpol. You'll have to find another way to get those files," Lestrade said as he got into his car and rolled down the window.

"I need to get a hold of those files," Sherlock urged.

"Maybe if you asked your brother nicely, then maybe he'll give them to you," Lestrade said, before driving off.

Sherlock just stood there. No matter how he asked his brother, there was no way he would give him what he needed. Just then an idea popped into his mind.

He took out his phone and dialed Mycroft's number.

One ring. Two rings. Three rin-.

"What do you want Sherlock?" Mycroft asked.

"I still need those files," Sherlock stated.

"Never going to happen," Mycroft replied.

"Red Beard didn't kill Mother's cat," Sherlock said.

"You're not going to blackmail again," Mycroft reassured.

"You know, I could just call her up and we can have a three-way conversation right now," Sherlock threatened.

"I don't care. She's not going to ground me, and you are not going to have access to our files on Magnussen," Mycroft said with confidence.

Sherlock sighed. He was going to need more leverage, and he had no way of getting it.

"Fine you win," Sherlock surrendered. "Keep your bloody files."

"Thank you for knowing that you lost," Mycroft gloated. "How's that feeling of your's doing?"

"I have it under control," Sherlock replied.

"Still think something bad is going to happen?" Mycroft asked.

"I think I'm letting him get to me, when I shouldn't," Sherlock answered. "Nothing bad is going to happen, he's just messing with my mind."

"That's what he does. He knows your pressure points and he will use them against you. You have to find away not to let it," Mycroft explained. "Have a good evening little brother."

Sherlock hung up and made his way out of the parking lot. When he was out in the streets, he looked up at the sky, it was getting dark fast.

Before texting John where to meet him, he had to go see one more person. The Woman.


	6. Hour Six

It had been three years since Sherlock had rescued her in Karachi and sent her to America. When he found out that she had moved back to London, he had planned to go see her, but his new-found fame kept him busy.

Shortly after John's wedding, he managed to locate where she was living, but never went to visit. Now it was time for a visit. If he had no other way to get what he needed, she was his last hope.

As Sherlock rounded a corner, he bumped into a woman, who was clearly dressed for a night out.

"My apologies ma'am," Sherlock said, not really paying attention to the woman.

"No reason to apologise, Sherlock Holmes. I bumped into you on purpose," the woman said.

Now Sherlock was paying attention that voice belonged to none other than,

"Irene Adler."

"I thought you would come by sooner," Irene pouted.

"I've been quite busy," Sherlock stated. "Shall we continue this conversation inside your flat, or do you wish to talk out here?"

"My flat it is," Irene replied.

* * *

><p>Sherlock looked around the flat and saw that it fit Irene's personality.<p>

"Still in the same business, I see," Sherlock noted.

"I tried to get out of the business while living in America, but it never worked out. As long as I kept a low profile business, I was safe," Irene answered.

"Why would you ever come back to London?" Sherlock wondered.

"I suppose I could ask you the same Mr. I-Faked-My-Own-Death," Irene said.

"I had destroyed Moriarty's network and London was in need of my services again," Sherlock replied. "Now tell me your reason."

"I wanted to come home," Irene said. "Why are you here?"

"I know that you have information on one Charles Augustus Magnussen. I need it," Sherlock said. "And I don't have time for your silly little games. I need the information and I need it right here, right now."

"I can't give you that information," Irene stated.

"Why not?" Sherlock asked.

"He owns me," Irene replied. "I would love nothing more than to give you everything."

"Then why don't you?" Sherlock suggested.

Irene moved into Sherlock personal space. "I always have loved this coat of yours. I could think of other ways to use it. None of them in a good way."

She put her hands into his pockets, then pulled them out again. "If you ever want to find out what those ideas are, you know where to find me."

"Yes, I do know where to find you," Sherlock replied. "I will be back."

As Sherlock left the flat, he pulled the memory stick that Irene had left in his coat pocket.


	7. The Final Hours

Sherlock sat in his chair looking the information Irene had given him, on his laptop. He had barely scratched the surface, when his phone rang.

He picked it up and answered it. "Janine, hi."

"I was thinking I could make my Mum's famous ham casserole for dinner and you can make a cherry pie for desert. John and Mary can bring something to the table also," Janine suggested.

"That sounds delightful. Though I have to warn you. John never was one for cooking. I've known him to burn a salad. Don't ask me how he did it, because I was not there at the time," Sherlock replied.

"When do you think would be a good time?" Janine asked.

"How about next Saturday?" Sherlock replied.

"I could do Saturday, as long as my boss doesn't have me work overtime," Janine said. "Call John and Mary to make sure the time is good for them."

"I'll be seeing John in a little bit so I'll ask him then," Sherlock stated.

"Good. Oh I don't need you to come pick me up. Magnussen is keeping me late again tonight," Janine informed.

"I was looking forward to more time with you," Sherlock falsely complained.

"We have all of tomorrow morning to talk about how unfair that is," Janine cooed. "Now I have to go before I get caught talking to you."

"I'll will see later then," Sherlock said and hung up.

"She's so clingy," Sherlock muttered as he tossed his phone on to couch.

He looked at his watch to see what time it was and decided it had a little while longer before he had to text John.

Before he could go back and look through some more information. Mrs. Hudson came in with Mary right behind her.

"Mary," Sherlock greeted solemnly. There was something about that woman, that didn't sit right with him.

"Sherlock," Mary replied.

"There a reason for your visit?" Sherlock wondered.

"I just came by to see if everything was okay," Mary stated. "Given everything that happened this morning, I was worried something wasn't right."

"I'm fine," Sherlock assured.

"Are you sure?" Mary asked.

"For the tenth time today, I was doing undercover work," Sherlock insisted. He was so tired of people asking.

"What kind of undercover work?" Mary questioned as she sat down on the couch.

"I'm not able to share any details about the case with you," Sherlock replied.

"Why not?" Mary asked.

"Because it is for the government and my brother has forbidden me from sharing," Sherlock said. "Now if you don't mind, I have a lot of work to do."

Mary stood up from the couch and headed toward the door. "I'll see you later, Sherlock."

* * *

><p>Hour Eight<p>

Sherlock continued to sift through the files, letting the time get away from him. When he went to check his watch he realised that he had to set his plan into action before it was to late.

He stood, went over to the couch and picked up his phone. He texted John the location as he put on his coat and headed out the door.

* * *

><p>Sherlock paid the cab driver as he got out. He then walked to the front of the massive building, and saw John already there.<p>

"How long have you been waiting?" Sherlock asked as he closed the gap between him and John.

"About ten minutes," John replied. "What exactly are we doing here?"

"You're about to find out," Sherlock answered walking right past John and into the building.

* * *

><p>Everything happened so fast yet so slowly. Mary Watson had just shot him, knocked Magnussen out and left. It felt like it had happened before Sherlock had even had a chance to register the gunshot wound. On the other hand it felt it happened over an extended period of time.<p>

Just as John had come running into the room, Sherlock's last thought before losing conciousness was,_ I should have stayed at the flat_.

* * *

><p>Author's Note: Okay I'll admit it writing every single word of this story made my stomach churn, because the entire time I had the scene of Mary shooting Sherlock, playing over and over again in my head.<p> 


End file.
